The Oliver Series
by onlyonceinforever
Summary: The other thing that happens when my ideas for Very Crazy Things become very Oliver based. Hence, his own fic. Essentially, Oliver tries to find the perfect job after a nice little bout with amnesia. :ON HIATUS:
1. Oliver the Elementary School Teacher

**Disclaimer: Whatever. I own nothing.**

**Now, before this thing gets underway, I would just like to point out that I love Oliver to death, and, if there was ever a time when I was in my right mind, I sure as hell wouldn't be doing this to them. That's it. Read on...**

**The first two chapters to this story are identical to the third and fourth of Very Crazy Things. This is because I thought it would be fun and twisted to make a whole thing based on Oliver and his insanity. Enjoy!**

**The Wonderful Life of Oliver Wood**

Once upon a time, Oliver Wood decided to become a school teacher. Now, I know most of you, as I did, are wondering why someone sotalented at something such as Quidditch would give it up forever to teach little brats to read and write. This can be easily explained - One day, during a particularly violent match with Bulgaria, was hit in the head with a Bludger as a last-ditch resort by an opposing Beater to claim the championship title. He survived, thankfully and to the relief of millions of screaming fangirls, but woke up from a lengthy coma having no recollection of the life he once had. All Oliver knew was that he wanted to enrich the minds of those less fortunate than himself.

So, Oliver left the hospital and went to a Muggle school to learn what one needs to know to be a teacher. It was a long and arduous process, but he prevailed. It took a while before Oliver discovered which level of learning (preschool, elementary, middle, or high) he wanted to teach, but in the end, he fell in love with the elementary school kids.

And this is when the story takes place, once Oliver found his niche. At the current point, he is lounging in his very cushy spinny chair at his very nice desk at a very prestigious elementary school by the name of Horace Green. The students are all at lunch, and then off to recess, so Oliver has a bit of time to himself to gather his thoughts. Of course, this was probably not the best of ideas, seeing as how those thoughts had turned to violence the past few days, as the students became increasingly more and more rowdy as vacation drew closer.

Oliver was unaccustomed to having people not do what he said when he said it. Whenever he had been put in charge of a group of people before, the majority younger than himself, he seized command and led his army straight into the depths of battle. Yet, there were a few differences. First of all, these were young children, barely old enough to stand on their own two feet (as Oliver liked to tell himself to compensate for his incompetence), not Quidditch players yearning for the House Cup for the first time in a very long time. Second, well, let's face it, Oliver wasn't exactly known for being the kindest and gentlest person around. In fact, he was rather accustomed to yelling and ordering people around, which obviously did not bode well with the parents of the students he was supposed to be educating.

There was something about the way Oliver taught that simply annoyed the parents. Sure, the kids learned what they were supposed to, I mean, who cares if they come home crying? Oliver leaned back in his chair and thought, trying to determine how he could end the barrage of complaints. After a few minutes of hardcore thinking, he came to a conclusion - he would try something new. But what? That was most definitely more easily said than done. A couple more minutes of pondering and Oliver came up with the answer - he would try being more kind and gentle. It was brilliant, if he did say so himself (which he did). And the perfect opportunity came to test his new theory once the children had returned from lunch. Oliver jumped out of his seat and said cheerfully:

"Hello, class! Now that everyone is all nice and full, why don't we begin with the new lesson." The students all stared at Oliver as if he had grown another set of heads and a broomstick had just produced itself from his bottom. Oliver ignored the looks and continued, writing a complex math equation (2+3?) on the black board in the front of the room. "Now, who can tell me the answer?" When no one raised their hand, Oliver decided to choose one to answer, but not anywhere near his normal way of yelling and degrading. "Shannon? How 'bout you?"

Shannon was a cute little girl, with mousy brown hair and freckles. Normally, she was very quiet, a trait that Oliver liked very much. This still held true as she stared at him in shock, resembling a deer caught in the headlights, with her eyes wide and frightened looking.

"No? Ok then, next student. How about... Greg. Do you know the answer to the problem on the board?" Greg was one of Oliver's least favorites of his class of eighteen, due to his obnoxious habit of speaking out of turn. However, the one time when Greg should have responded, he didn't and instead stared at Oliver as if one of his newly acquired heads had been painted with black and pink checkers. "No? Are you sure you don't know?" Greg shook his head slowly, a bit worried about what Oliver would do next. Normally, in a situation such as this, Oliver would explode and rant on and on about how stupid they all were and how they were never going to make it in the "real world". However, this was the new Oliver and the new Oliver would never blow up at an innocent child.

"Well, that's all right. We'll go over it until everyone understands it, all right?" A series of delayed nodding commenced as he turned to face the board. Oliver picked up a piece of chalk and rewrote the equation, larger, and with little circles to represent the amount.

"Now, if there are two cookies in this group and three cookies in this group, how many cookies will there be if they all are put in one group? Allan? How 'bout you?"

"Uh, does it matter what kind of cookies they are?" The class giggled and Oliver shook his head, smiling slightly. Allan was known for eating just about everything he could get his hands on and more. Cookies just so happened to be a personal favorite, and Oliver knew it. _Step one, _he thought to himself as Allan set to work trying to solve the problem _Know what the kids respond to. That way, they have more incentive to do well at something. Bribing probably works just as well._ _God, I should write a book._

"Do you have the answer yet, Allan?" He asked kindly, still in a vastly different manner than what was the norm.

"Um... six?" Oliver smiled and millions of screaming fangirls all over the world swooned and fainted.

"Close. The answer is five. Can anyone tell me why?" A red headed girl by the name of Petunia raised her hand tentatively. "Petunia?"

"Because there would have to be one more than there is to make six?"

"Right. Now, are you asking me that or telling me?"

"Um... telling you?"

"Right. Next time, try it with a bit more confidence, all right?" Petunia nodded, and the class still could not for the life of them figure out what was wrong with their teacher. The remainder of the day passed in a similar manner, with Oliver adopting his new philosophy that if you didn't pressure or frighten the students they would perform better. Moments before the bell rang, as the class was packing their stuff to go home, a tall, smart-alecky boy came up to Oliver's desk, where he was grading papers.

"Um, Mr. Wood? Can I ask you something?" Oliver looked up from a particularly riveting worksheet on vowel pronunciation.

"Why of course, Steven. What can I do for you?" The boy, Steven, averted his gaze to a spot of dirt on the tiled floor as to not meet the gaze that millions of screaming fangirls all around the world would kill to see.

"Well, ya see, some of the other guys and I were wondering..."

"Yes? What is it?"

"Well, we wanted to know why you're not being the mean Mr. Wood we all know. I mean, it's just strange that you're being so nice all of a sudden. Sorta like you're trying to lure us into thinking you're really a nice guy or something." Oliver blinked at him for a few moments, trying desperately not to explode at this poor, innocent child.

"Excuse me?" He voice was low, soft, tone dangerous. Steven wisely opted to keep his mouth closed as he began to step backwards slowly. Just as a loud stream of curses escaped Oliver's mouth (most of which is unprintable due to the rating of this fic), the bell rang and the students sprinted out of the room just as fast as their little legs would carry them. "THAT'S IT! I QUIT! I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! I need my shrink..." And with that, the former teacher, Mr. Oliver Wood, stormed out of the school building, swearing that the next child that crossed his path would be in for a nasty surprise. In fact, this type of deranged muttering continued as he made his way down to his psychiatrist's office, where the verdict was that he was crazy.

The end.

**I love Oliver. I love screwing with him more. Take that as you will.**


	2. Oliver the Guidance Counselor

**Disclaimer: Me, own Harry Potter? Psh! If I did I wouldn't be sitting here writing entertainment for you, now would I?**

**The first two chapters to this story are identical to the third and fourth of Very Crazy Things. This is because I thought it would be fun and twisted to make a whole thing based on Oliver and his insanity. Enjoy!**

**The Oliver Series, Part II**

As was explained in the previous chapter (which if you haven't read it I highly suggest you do. But then again, why would someone start reading on the fourth chapter of a fic without first reading the other three chapters? That's just not logical.) Oliver has been having a bit of trouble with his profession. The poor guy is a failure at being an elementary school teacher, and his shrink (me) is getting paid not nearly enough. And thus we embark on the next segment of our wonderfully twisted tale. Read on, if you dare...

Oliver strolled down the hallway of his new school. Here, he wasn't going to be a teacher (thank God), but instead a guidance counselor. Instead of enriching young minds with pointless drivel, he would be helping the youth of our generation to figure out what they would like to do with the rest of their lives. Well, that is, if he could remain semi-sane long enough to collect a couple of paychecks.

He waltzed into his cushy office, where the first victim of the day was already waiting. Oliver had never seen her before, which was probably just as well. None of the kids he helped ever had to come back. Why this was is a bit unclear, but there was no point in dwelling in the past when there was the future to aid.

Oliver sat down in his black spinny chair at his desk and smiled warmly at the student.

"So," He said. "What can I do for you this fine day?" The girl sniffled, a lone tear running down her cheek. Oliver ignored this, as his previous experiences with crying told him it was best to just wait it out. "Well?"

"My name," Sniffed the girl, on the verge of a breakdown. "Is-is-is..." Oliver waited expectantly, as his therapist taught him to, not pushing the girl into responding before she was ready.

"Yes?"

"Sandy McFarland."

"Well, Sandy, what seems to be the problem today?" The girl named Sandy sniffled again.

"Well, ya see, the thing is..." Her voice trailed off, leaving Oliver to either suffer from a terrible head trauma that would make him become psychic in the next few seconds or wait until she finished. He wisely chose the latter. Of course, this meant he was forced to sit around, twiddling his thumbs impatiently as he waited for the next words to exit Sandy's mouth. "I-I-Oh, it's just too terrible to say!" Tears began streaming down her face, which Oliver again ignored.

"Well, I'm sure it's not. I mean, look at me - I used to be a famous Quidditch player, best in the league, then I got whacked in the head by a Bludger and couldn't remember anything about what my life used to be like, then decided to become and elementary school teacher, which I sucked at, I'm underpaying my wonderful therapist who I think I might be sleeping with against my knowledge, and now I'm here, as a high school guidance counselor. I seriously doubt your life could be much worse than mine."

"Oh, but it is!" Sandy sobbed, blowing her nose into a tissue from Oliver's desk.

"Then why don't you tell me what the problem is and we can fix it together?" Oliver suggested, eager to finish the session so he could go get some breakfast from the school cafeteria. Sandy shook her head. Oliver's eye twitched. "Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaay. What do I have to do to get you to tell me what the problem is?"

"I don't sob knooooooooooooooow!" Oliver continued to ignore the weeping as he thought long and hard about what he could possibly do to remedy this situation. After a few incredibly long moments of thinking, he came to a solution.

"I got it! If you don't tell me what the problem is right this instant I'm going to put on your permanent record that you are a compulsive liar who comes to guidance to waste the time of perfectly sane people just so you can cut class!" The tears stopped immediately, as Sandy pondered what he had just said. When it hit her that he was willing to lie to get her out of his office as soon as possible, her eyes widened.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh yes I would. Just try me." Sandy, having no desire whatsoever to do anything of the sort, determined that it would be in her best interests to simply tell the nice psychotic man what the problem was and scurry along back to class.

"Well, ya see, Mr. Wood, sir, the thing is..." Oliver leaned forward, one hand reaching for the key to the filing cabinet filled with student transcripts.

"Yes?"

"I-I... I got an A- on a project that I worked ever so hard on and it's the lowest grade I've ever gotten on anything!" Oliver started at her in shock.

"I'm sorry, I think I may have heard you incorrectly. Did you say the reason you're so upset is because you got an A- on a project?" Sandy nodded, tears building up again. Oliver closed his eyes, trying to find his happy place as his wonderful therapist had told him to when he felt the desire to rip someone's head into shreds. A moment later, he came back to reality. "Is that all you needed?" Sandy nodded tearfully. "OK then. Time to head back to class."

"OK. Thank you Mr. Wood." Oliver smiled in what he hoped was a friendly manner, which actually resembled a shark smiling at a human bleeding profusely from the arm when there was no one around to save them. Sandy scampered out of the office just as fast as she could, a terrified look on her face. Oliver sighed and leaned back in his chair. What was this world coming to? He would have to go visit his wonderful therapist again for this one.

**For more psychoness, check out my other fic Very Crazy Things!**


	3. Oliver the Guidance Counselor Part II

**Disclaimer: Check the previous two chapters.**

**sigh This is so much fun!**

**More and More Insanity**

The next poor student to walk into Oliver's office was one by the name of Shane West (A/N: No, not the Shane West we all know and love, another one that I just made up for the hell of it) Shane had some issues, but just how many he had was something Oliver was about to find out for himself.

"So," Oliver said, leaning back in his cushy black chair at his remarkably tidy brown desk. "What can I do for you today...?"

"Shane."

"Oh, right. Shane. I knew that." Truth be told, Oliver couldn't recall a time before when he had ever even seen the kid, but that was pretty normal for Oliver. However, if you had seen this kid, you probably wouldn't forget him in a hurry, whether because you were scared out of your wits at the sight of him, or because you found him as devilishly handsome as I'm sure I would upon first laying eyes on him. (A/N: Curse my weakness for hot punk/goth boys!) When Oliver would later describe the aforementioned Shane to his therapist, she would have the overwhelming desire to dump Oliver and screw Shane on the spot. But that's besides the point.

Shane was a classic punk boy, the type high school girls always tend to fall for then get their hearts broken by. He was clad in all black, from his tight black t-shirt down to his black and red colored Vans. His pants were about three sizes larger than they needed to be, and were adorned with a wide array of straps and buckles and other such silver things that served no visible purpose. His hair, in contrast to his clothes, was dyed a shocking shade of pink and was shaped into a mohawk. (A/N: drool) As Oliver observed the numerous piercings in his ears, the black eye liner he was wearing caught his eye. Oliver had never been able to understand why girls thought makeup on guys was so hot. One time at his therapist's, she had put the black stuff on him as part of a "game", and even then he couldn't figure it out.

"So, Shane, what brings you to my humble abode on this fine day?" Shane stared at Oliver as if he had grown a couple more heads, then shifted his gaze to the window. Oliver followed, and saw that his statement was a bit out of place, as rain was pounding down on the ground with such a force that it could very well be able to total a school bus. "Ok, never mind. What seems to be the problem?" Shane blinked at him.

"Nuthin'."

"Oh, OK then. That means we're done here. You're free to go." Shane continued staring, as if observing the pretty colors Oliver's newly acquired heads were turning. "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah. Aren't you supposed to, like, I dunno, talk to me or somethin'?" Oliver shrugged.

"There's nothing I can talk to you about if I don't know why you came down here to be talked to in the first place. Ya see?" He obviously didn't, and remained sitting where he was. Oliver sighed. This was going to be a looooooong day.

They sat in silence for a full three minutes before Oliver's patience began to wear a bit thin. He decided it was time to take another stab at unearthing this kid's hidden issues. "So, Shane. How's everything going in your life?" Shane shrugged in a typical high school punk boy fashion.

"OK, I guess."

"You guess? Why only guess? Why don't you know for sure?" Shane shrugged again.

"Dunno." Oliver inwardly sighed. This was going to take quite a bit longer than he had expected.

"OK, well, let's try this - Do you have a girlfriend, Shane?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because. It gives me something to talk about. Do you like her?" Shane shrugged again.

"I guess. Why?"

"Because. I'm trying to figure out what your problem is. Is everything going well between you two?" Shane shrugged.

"I guess. Why?"

"Because. I feel like asking you these stupid and seemingly irrelevant questions. Do you guys fight at all?" Shane shrugged.

"I guess not. Why?"

"Because. I take joy in pressuring high school boys into divulging information about their private lives. Are you two having sex?" Shane shrugged.

"I guess. Why?"

"You guess you're having sex? That's not really a question you can answer with 'I guess'. It's either a yes or no question. So, which is it?" Shane shrugged.

"I dunno. I guess."

"OK, I would just like to take this time to point out that there is no way you could possibly not know if you're having sex unless you've been unconscious every time. And even then I'm pretty sure you'd still know afterwards. Ya know what? Since I'm not sure about that, I'm going to call someone who would know." Oliver shifted his attention to the phone that sat beside the keyboard on his desk and dialed his wonderful therapist's number. After two rings, an automated answering machine picked up. Oliver waited until the beep and began talking. "Yes, Ashley, it's Oliver. I have a question for you." Before he could continue, Ashley picked up.

_"Hello Oliver, and no, I will not have sex with you during your lunch break."_

"That's not what I wanted. But thanks for the idea."

_"If you didn't call about sex, what did you call about?"_

"I wanted to know - well, yeah, I suppose it is sex related - if someone is unconscious while having sex if they'd know it happened after regaining consciousness." Ashley thought for a moment from the other end.

"_Yeah, they would. There's the little matter of the fact that they're clothes would be missing and certain... sensitive areas may be a bit sore."_

"AHA! I knew it! Thanks, Ashley, you're the best!"

"_Yeah, I know. So, we still on for lunch?"_

_"_Duh. I'll see you at your office at 12."

"_OK, I suppose I'll see you then."_

_"_Yup, I suppose you will. Later, then." With that, Oliver hung up the phone and shifted his attention back to Shane, who was looking at him rather strangely. "See? I told you you would know if you had sex even if you were unconscious."

"... O...kay..." Shane was looking a bit freaked out, and definitely wanted to get out of that office as soon as possible, but Oliver wouldn't let him until he spilled his gut.

"So, have you been having sex?" Shane almost shrugged again, but thought better of it.

"Yeah. I have."

"Good! We've made a breakthrough! This is great! Does your girlfriend like that you're having sex?" Shane shrugged.

"I guess." Oliver glared at him and Shane quickly expanded upon his answer. "I mean, she hasn't said anything that would make me think otherwise. Well, that is, until yesterday."

"Oh?" Oliver asked, leaning forward in his chair. "What happened yesterday?"

"She, Olivia, told me she's..."

"She's what?"

"Pregnant." Oliver's eyes widened in a look of shock and near horror.

"No! Have you two been safe?"

"I thought so, but then there's the other part of what she told me."

"Yes?"

"She said I'm not the only guy she's had sex with!" With that statement, Shane began to break down in tears, which Oliver, of course, ignored as he had learned to.

"Well, that's horrible. You should definitely dump her on the spot. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to be late for my lunch date. Good day." With that, Oliver stood up and exited the office, leaving Shane to his thoughts and tears. As Oliver made his way down to his wonderful therapist's office, he thought proudly to himself that he couldn't have possibly handled it any better. Ashley, his wonderful therapist, however, seemed to think differently, and Oliver was going to have to be punished for it. No wonder he liked this job so much.

**Hmm...I think I might have made Oliver a bit mean and sex-crazed in this chapter, but whatever. I can change it if enough people ask me nicely. Hint hint.**

**2/21?**


	4. Oliver the Guidence Counselor Part III

**Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure I own the voices in my head and nothing else. But lately they've been trying to convince me otherwise...**

**A/N: Ack, it's been forever since I've updated this... Sorry! My muse has been on a nice two friggin' month long vacation and left me high and dry for that period of time. Thankfully, she returned so I could write a SVU fic, and now I think everything's going better.**

**Um... I feel the need at this particular second to be writing SVU fanfiction, but alas, ideas are not coming to me, and I don't particularly feel like focusing on ShutterBox, since that requires a serious mindset, and I don't have that right now. Uh, I had a point, what was it? ... Right, so there's my excuse for throwing a few choice SVU characters into this otherwise perfectly normal HP fic and they will be vastly out of character. **

Everything had been quiet at the school at which Oliver currently worked for the past few days, mainly because the headmaster had prohibited him from seeing students until his "sexual tension regarding his shrink could be worked out in a healthy manner". Of course, this meant that Oliver spent nearly every waking moment at his therapists, but neither of them were complaining about that.

Anyways, Oliver's first case upon his return was a teenage girl, with perky bleached blonde hair, clad in all pink. Oliver had to actually shield his eyes from the sight before he could see properly. Once he could, he asked,

"And how can I help you today, miss...?"

"Olivia Benson."

"Olivia? Now, that sounds rather familiar, but I can't seem to place where I heard it before..." Oliver sat there in deep thought for a full thirty seconds (an all time high for him) before giving up. "Why don't you just tell me what your problem is and we can figure this all out."

Olivia nodded, tears mounting in her eyes.

"Well, yesterday, I found out that I'm... I'm..." she trailed off, much to Oliver's annoyance.

"You're what? You're what? I swear, if you only came here because you got an A- on a paper, I'm gonna have to hurt something."

"No, no, it's not that," Olivia replied hurriedly, "It's just that... I'm pregnant. And my boyfriend doesn't seem to happy about it. I'm afraid he'll leave me and our child and I'll have to raise little Jemima or Harrison all on my own and my parents will kick me out of the house and we'll have nowhere to live and we'll starve to death on the streets and - and -" She was cut off as she started to sob. As usual, Oliver ignored her.

"Right, okay, so, have you talked to him about this?"

Olivia shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

"Right, okay, so you should. Soon. Now, as a matter of fact. Why don't you just walk right out this door right now and talk to him. Pull him out of class if you have to, but talk to him. He's the one you should really be talking to, not me. No, not me." Oliver walked over to the door of his office and held it open. When Olivia didn't waltz out, he sighed. This was going to be a _long_ day...

Before Oliver had the chance to close the door, two men strode in, brandishing badges. Oliver sighed. He was never going to make his lunch date with his shrink...

"Detectives Stabler and Cassidy, sex crimes" The first man, who, in Oliver's opinion, was the more handsome of the two, stated.

Oliver raised an eyebrow, wondering if they had come to arrest him for messing around with his wonderful therapist when he should have been working.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

The two detectives exchanged glances. Then the second, younger one, spoke.

"Is there an Alana Marcelo in the building?"

"Uh, not as far as I know. There is a Olivia Benson, if you'd be willing to take her instead."

The older men exchanged bewildered looks.

"Olivia Benson? But..." the first one, Detective Stabler, pondered.

"That's not Olivia," the second one, Detective Cassidy, stated, sounding confused. "Unless there's something she's not telling us."

"I don't think so. I think I know what my own partner looks like, thank you very much."

"And I think you damn well better, since it makes for really crappy fanfiction if you don't." A new presence made itself known in Oliver's office. Oliver, as for him, only sighed and wondered how hard it would be to slip out of the room unnoticed.

Cassidy perked up at the sound of the newcomer's voice.

"Alana! It's about damn time. Now why did you call us down here?"

"Yeah," Elliot interjected, "Why did you feel the need to pull us away from our very important, very respectable jobs and partners to come all the way down here."

Alana smirked coyly.

"Because I have reason to believe that that girl sitting there has been raped." There was a very dramatic pause. "By a pencil. "

Then, as an afterthought, "And because you guys are so much better together than with Munch and Benson."

It didn't appear that the detectives heard the second part, however, as they were very caught up with the end of the first statement.

"Don't you mean _with_ a pencil? She was raped _with_ a pencil, not by one?"

Alana shook her head.

"Nope. You heard me."

They simultaneously turned to Olivia, who was sitting in the same chair as before, still crying. Oliver sighed yet again. He was never going to get out of here...

"Is this true, Miss Benson? Were you raped?" Stabler asked, taking on a tone considerably more calm and collected than the one he used before.

Olivia stared at them, shocked to hear such an allegation against her beloved Shane. And, apparently, his pencil.

"Wh- What? No, of course not, Shane loves me. He would never do anything to hurt me!"

This statement threw Oliver for a loop.

"Wait, Shane? As in Shane West? As in the really hot punk/goth guy that was in here a few days ago?"

Olivia nodded.

"_He's_ your boyfriend?"

Olivia nodded.

"_You're _Olivia?"

Olivia nodded.

"Oh boy..." Oliver leaned against his desk to keep from falling over from the intense level of strangeness that was going on in the room. "You're kidding, right?"

"Do you know this Shane?" Cassidy asked, looking more than just a little bit confused.

Oliver nodded.

"Yeah, he was in here a few days ago because he was scared because his girlfriend was pregnant and yadda yadda yadda blah blah blah etc etc. You know how it is."

Olivia, Alana, Stabler, and Cassidy all stared at him.

"Um, Oliver?" Alana asked after a moment of silence, "Are you seeing a shrink?"

"Yes. Why ever do you ask?"

"No reason. Just wondering."

"It's not George Huang, is it?" Stabler asked, looking very much like he was about to throttle something.

"Um, no. It's Ashley Whitworth. Is there a problem with that?"

"Ashley Whitworth, you say?" Cassidy chimed in, "I know her. Not too bad, if I do say so myself."

"Which you do?"

"Which I do." Cassidy agreed. "Are you sure about this pencil thing?"

"Yup. Positive."

"Alana, are _you_ seeing a shrink?"

"Nope. I hate shrinks. With a passion. Funny, since that's what I wanna be when I grow up."

All the while, Olivia was still sitting there like nothing had happened. Alana decided that it was time to head back on over to class. Well, she almost did, then determined that since she was skipping anyway that she might as well make the most of it.

"Hey, Stabler, can I come with you guys back to the precinct?"

Stabler and Cassidy exchanged glances. Then Stabler shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess. Wanna bring Karen?"

"Hell yeah. She's been missing Munch and Fin recently." So, Alana skipped off to gather her friend Karen Barley as the two detectives determined that they didn't have a case here and went out to the squad car to wait for the girls where they promptly got it on. Olivia determined that she just _had_ to go talk to Shane, and promptly left merrily. Oliver, as usual, was left standing there. Again. Then he decided to go visit his wonderful shrink.

"I think I'm going crazy... Again."

9/2


	5. Oliver the Guidence Counselor Part IV

**Disclaimer: What do you think?**

**A/N: I flat out refuse to apologize for this, since it wasn't all that long ago that I updated. So there. **

**Oh, in reference to the previous chapter, nothing about it was meant to make light of rape or anyone who has been. There is nothing funny about it, and I apologize if I have offended anyone in any way. I just needed a reason to put in Elliot and Brian, and that was the only way I could think of. So again, I am truly sorry if I offended you or anyone you know.**

**On with the fic!**

It was another positively corking day in the wonderful life of Oliver Wood. It was only 7:00 and already there was a highly troubled student sitting in his office. How this highly troubled student got in his office at such an ungodly hour was beyond Oliver, but he just figured that the fares were out to give him a heart attack by the end of the school year.

"So," Oliver said, feigning cheerfulness and coming off as a coffee deprived maniac, "What seems to be the problem?"

Silence.

"O...kay... How about telling me your name?"

Silence.

"O...kay... Are you stupid? Born dead, blind, and dumb?" Oliver smiled semi-perkily at the perfectly executed use of Green Day lyrics. He had only gotten into the band recently, mainly because his wonderful therapist had it playing constantly in her office. And it was the ONLY thing she played, except if she was in a particularly bad mood, which always led to Oliver being chained up (and occasionally whipped) to the sound of Eighteen Visions. Not that Oliver minded the first part, but the screaming was rather hard on the ears.

Silence. It was almost as if this kid was ". . ."-ing him.

"Is there a, um, reason you're here?"

". . ."

"O...kay... Did someone send you or...?"

". . ."

"O...kay..." Oliver glanced around his desk for some sort of paper explanation, desperate for something to do other than talking to the likeness of a wall. Thankfully, he found a note saying that this mute child did indeed have a name (Felix Felicitonis) and could indeed speak. As it would turn out, he had been something of a chatterbox up until a week ago, when he suddenly shut up. Apparently, he hadn't said a word since.

"All right, Felix old chap, why did you stop talking all of a sudden? Not that I'm complaining, but if I don't give you some guidance, I don't get payed. And believe me, I am NOT a happy camper when I don't get paid."

". . ." I was as if this kid was mocking Oliver. And nobody - and I mean NOBODY - mocks Oliver Wood and gets away with it. Lucky for Felix, however, Oliver was too tired and grump and coffee deprived to do a damn thing about it.

"So, here's the deal. I'm tired and grumpy and coffee deprived and REALLY don't want to deal with you and this and whatnot right now, you got that?"

". . ." Slowly, but surely, Felix nodded. Oliver almost had a heart attack at the sign of movement (and therefore life) from the boy. Up until this point, he had started to think that he was no longer dealing with one of the living, and that this kid, this Felix, had croaked on his watch. This prospect did not make Oliver very happy, therefore he was overwhelmed when there was proof he wasn't dead.

While Oliver was thanking God that nobody had died on his watch (yet), Felix was talking. (Another shocker)

"So... um..." Felix searched for the right words to say.

"Yes?" Oliver leaned forward in anticipation, clutching his heart with his hand.

"This..._ thing_ happened."

"Yes?" Oliver leaned forward further.

"I... I was at school and..."

"Yes?" Oliver leaned even farther forward.

"And... Well, I kinda..."

"Yes?" Oliver was so far forward now that his nose was practically touching the floor.

"I kinda... well..."

"Yes?" Oliver's nose was touching the floor now.

Felix took a deep, calming breath before completing his statement.

"I lost my favorite pencil."

Oliver fell over anime style. For those of you that are ignorant, that means they fall over, make a really funny noise, and somehow end up with their feet in the air in a way that doesn't seem humanly possible. When he regained his composure, he said,

"You... you lost your favorite pencil?"

Felix nodded.

"Was it... expensive?"

Felix shook his head.

"Was it... sentimental?"

Felix shook his head again.

"Was it... Uh, so what was it?"

Felix's eyes filled with tears.

"It was... It was... MY FAVORITE PENCIL!" He sobbed, wet trails streaking down his cheeks and forming a rather impressive puddle on the ground.

Oliver just stared at him.

"That's it? It was just a pencil?" he said in disbelief.

"But it was MY FAVORITE PENCIL!" Felix wailed, reaching a decibel that humans shouldn't be forced to endure.

"Riiiiiight." Oliver began to back away, out the door slowly. When it was safe, he darted out into the hallway and ran all the way down to his wonderful shrink's office. He hoped she was in a good mood...


End file.
